And I was nothing more than a golden ticket.
I stood by the grand staircase, my bag over my shoulder. Sarah leaned against the banister, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
“You’re really leaving,” she said flatly.
“Yeah.”
“You’re making a mistake, Emma.”
“No,” I said quietly. “The mistake was believing you wanted me—not my inheritance.”
“I gave birth to you,” she hissed.
“And then you let me go.”
“So, you’re just going to take the money and leave?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m going to pay for my tuition next year. And I’m going to spoil my parents, the people who have been spoiling me my entire life.”
For the first time, she didn’t have an answer.
I turned toward the door.
“You owe me, Emma,” she snapped.
I paused, gripping the handle.
“I owe you nothing,” I said.
